


The Life Aquatic With Fethry Duck

by CannedTins



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: (no not that kind), Abandonment, BIG mood whiplash, Comedy, Drowning, Gen, Horror, Isolation, Mindfuck, Night Terrors, Ocean, a singular instance of the f word, starts out kinda funny then becomes what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannedTins/pseuds/CannedTins
Summary: One restless night turns into something else entirely for Scrooge McDuck, and it leaves him wondering his personal decisions and how they affected him and others. And Fethry is there.I wasn't even sure what to title this.





	The Life Aquatic With Fethry Duck

**Author's Note:**

> I just kept writing...and writing...and writing, like some sort of demon had possessed me and forced me to write something to mentally torture an elderly duck about his nephew who he had left in an underwater laboratory for four and a half years.
> 
> I greatly appreciate comments and criticism!

Restless nights were not uncommon to Scrooge McDuck. You do not live to 150 years old without having a night where the tossing and turning gets intense and you simply can do nothing but stare at the ceiling for perhaps hours on end. And being very old, Scrooge had many, many of these nights. This time the restlessness was brought upon by a lingering fear of the unknown perhaps standing by, not something like Magica or even a Beagle Boy, but something more incorporeal and perhaps of a world incomprehensible to a simple duck’s mind.

 

Thanks to his glasses being on the tableside, Scrooge’s vision was blurry as all hell and he could only make out the vaguely fuzzy shapes of his ludicrously adorned bedroom. As far as he knew there was no sight of any shadow entity or sorceresses named Magica De Spell in the room, but just to be sure, he whispered out in the dark,

 

“who the  _ fuck _ is here?”

 

No response aside from an echo that seemed to be mocking back at him. Scrooge fumbled for his glasses and scanned the room darkly. His aged heart was already going into palpitations and he silently cursed himself for inadvertently kicking his sympathetic nervous system response into gear.

 

He looked at the time, and for a second was glad that it was not anything freakish like 6:66 AM.. The still air was just so  _ eerie _ to Scrooge at a level he hadn’t registered previously, as if several thousand tiny tendrils of some hitherto-unknown abomination of Carl Barks were crawling up his back and neck, chilling his spine with a slightly wet, cold feeling. He knew something was  _ there _ , he knew just how many people were after his neck, or died as a result of him, or whatever curse was brought upon them.

That is to say, Scrooge could never catch a break once in his life, not even when he was in bed. He mentally debated calling for Beakley or Duckworth (given that the ghost doesn’t give him a heart attack first), but decided against it. He tried to go back to sleep, snuggling under his blanket.

 

The mildly frightening atmosphere in the bedroom did not fade, the cold, wet feeling growing more intense by the moment, and finally a foul, salty odor filled Scrooge’s nostrils and prompted him to wake up again. It couldn’t be seawater, his mansion was on a hill, but it smelled so much like it. He didn’t think Donald was the sort to play a prank, but maybe it was one of the triplets. Yet, there was still nobody in the room, only Scrooge.

 

Window curtains fluttered in the wind, personal paintings had their eyes on Scrooge, the air and the chill getting worse. Was this a joke? Somebody playing a mean prank? This wasn’t funny to Scrooge at all, and frankly it could get boring. Scrooge liked challenges. He got up and decided maybe he had too many nutmeg teas for a night, heading for the bathroom. The chill and smell followed. Scrooge squinted into the mirror to see if there was anything behind him, but there was nothing. Just the toilet. Or so it seemed.

 

There was seaweed in the toilet. Now something was definitely going on. Seaweed in the toilet, a sight he had never seen in all his 150 years and frankly disgusted him. The seaweed was fresh and green and wet, and seemed to be coming from the pipes underneath. He gagged and walked back to his bed, trying to forget the sight of seaweed-in-a-toilet. But, then there was  _ something  _ sitting on his bed, in a meditative pose, only shadowy darkness in already shadowy darkness. 

 

“Not funny, Huey.”

 

Or was it Dewey? Louie? Was there a Phooey?

 

Two wide eyes popped open from the sitting figure, looking stricken although it was too hard to make out the features yet. It stared directly ahead at Scrooge, paused, then crawled over slowly, like a cat, towards him. It stopped once they were bill-to-bill. Then the figure grinned.

 

“Why did you put me down there, uncle?”

 

Scrooge blinked, adjusting his glasses as he assessed the situation, “What are you talking about? Who are you? Donald?”

 

“It’s been four years...”

 

_ Oh, shit.  _

 

“Fethry?”

 

To be honest, Scrooge thought the odd loon had died some time ago---he hadn’t heard a peep from him for several weeks. And now possibly his ghost had crawled up from the depths of the sea and come back to haunt him. His features seemed to take on a shape as Scrooge finally recognized who it was, and it was  _ that _ nephew he thought he’d gotten rid of, the one who was  _ always _ causing trouble for him, the one he stuck down there 20,000 leagues under the sea and nearly forgot about. He’d forgotten how he even  _ looked _ .

 

One could assume Fethry Duck did drugs of some sort, but he didn’t. Living a long time under the sea does not do well to you physically. He was very scrawny and his feathers were messy, sticking out all over the place, looking even more deranged than possible with his wide, bloodshot,  sunken-in eyes. He looked  _ so happy _ , though, and that was what unnerved Scrooge the most. The duck was dripping wet, seaweed strewn across him and his clothes sticking uncomfortably close to his bony frame. 

 

Scrooge’s bed was getting wet.  _ His bed was getting wet and he’d never wet his bed. _

The old duck reached for his cane and started swinging at the apparition, frantically yelling at it to go away, Fethry only sitting there on his knees and hands and continue to stare at his neglectful uncle with an unreadable expression. Scrooge would have expected Beakley to come running in, but she just did not, as if some force were holding her back, and that force’s name was Fethry Duck. In a flash of lightning Fethry grabbed the cane with his hand and had it inn a vice grip from which Scrooge could not pry himself out of.

 

“Why, uncle? I loved you,” Fethry pleaded, but there was something in his voice that sent shivers up Scrooge’s spine, “I’ve been so lonely.”

 

Scrooge was properly frightened at this point, he didn’t think a family member of his, much less anyone like Fethry Duck, would be coming for his poor old heart at a time like this. He never even  _ thought _ of Fethry as one to hold grudges. Actually, it didn’t even look like he was holding a grudge here, the duck looked positively  _ giddy  _ to see his uncle after four or so years. Fethry’s wide-eyed stare and unnerving smile never left his face even as he spoke those accusations of Scrooge abandoning him. He smelled of seaweed and dead fish and salt and looked like a dessicated corpse washed up on a beach. Maybe Scrooge shouldn’t have done that. Maybe this was only a nightmare. Scrooge usually fought his way out of nightmares.

 

Fethry seamlessly glided from the bed to the floor, now standing up, a movement that did not seem natural for a duck at all. He seemed to be dripping endless gallons of seawater onto the floor and leaving seaweed in his wake. Fethry walked towards Scrooge and held out his hand, beckoning at the old man like some kind of overly-friendly salesman, or a bloodthirsty siren. Scrooge reluctantly reached for the hand, assuming this was the next step of the nightmare. It felt ice-cold to the touch and slimy. Fethry had been in the sea for  _ too long _ .

 

“Our oceans cover 70% of the Earth’s surface. Isn’t that neat, uncle?”

  
Scrooge knew that already, so he challenged Fethry to a new fact. The other duck broke into a wide grin, looking overjoyed at the aspect of telling him endless marine biology facts to bore his old man to death.

 

“Less than 5% of the ocean’s planet have been explored.”

 

“I know that too.”

 

“No,” Fethry interrupts Scrooge with a decidedly menacing voice, “You don’t.”

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“You don’t know what I’ve seen, uncle.”

 

Phlegm rose up uncomfortably in Scrooge’s throat and he gulped it down. Something weird was going on, again. The seawater smell, the seaweed in the toilet, was that all the work of Fethry? 

The floor shifted beneath Scrooge’s feet and he noticed the seawater rising, inching up his feet and ankles and knees. It was rising fast and he was potentially locked in this room with the ghost of his nephew that he’d left to fend for himself in total isolation. Fethry was no longer wide-eyed and smiling, instead he looked mildly disappointed, whether with Scrooge or some other entity out there. Scrooge thought quickly to come up with a fact of his own, or an anecdote.

 

“But I’ve seen so many things. I’ve seen Atlantis!”

 

Fethry’s expression did not change, “Tell me why you left.”

 

The water was up to their chests now.

 

“Because--I...” If Scrooge told the truth, he’d be in trouble, he wanted to tell Fethry it was because of his erratic personality, his outbursts and obsessions and more. He didn’t want to risk trouble, but the water was up to his chin now and it felt like a life-or-death scenario here, or rather as Scrooge tried to rationalize it---nightmare-or-wake-up.

 

“I can see you lie, uncle! I don’t like liars!” Fethry suddenly took on a more childish look and voice, one that reminded Scrooge of the duck’s youth, when he was just a duckling who liked to chase his cousins around and pluck the barn horse’s hairs.

 

Scrooge now found himself gulping seawater and realized he was fully underwater, floating and trying to hold his breath as he saw Fethry stay with his feet firmly planted to the ground. His long stocking cap and stray feathers moved slowly in the water, enhancing the ghostly appearance. This wasn’t possible, it just was not possible to Scrooge. Now he really preferred if it were Magica in the room instead. Time seemed to move slowly with him as well, everything mildly fuzzy and in slow-motion, although Fethry did not move a muscle himself.

 

“Do you like being underwater, uncle?”

 

_ Yes, preferably with a breathing apparatus, please! _ , Scrooge thought, not daring to speak in case he were to waste precious breath. The look on Fethry’s face indicated that Scrooge had still not answered for the abandonment and later isolation that the poor duck had been brought into, and for once Scrooge thought about how it must have been to live like that, and almost felt sorry. Maybe if he just told the truth, the nightmare would go away. Maybe.

 

But there was one problem. Scrooge could not speak underwater. Unsettlingly enough, Fethry seemed to know this, and then Scrooge knew why he was placed underwater. Perhaps Fethry never wanted to hear the truth at all. Fethry  used to view his uncle very fondly, even if he was mean or annoyed by him. He used to want to help him. Scrooge could sense the feelings of betrayal that Fethry held, and indeed it seemed to emanate from his little body. He’d wasted the life and body of an eager-to-please, excitable young duck for four and a half years and he was here to pay for it. Sending Della to the moon was not enough to torment him, apparently, no. He had brought curses upon himself and others with his own selfish, foolhardy deeds. One of those cursed people was here now, and it was trying to silence and drown him.

 

Fethry looked more ghostly than ever, staring directly ahead at his uncle with eyes full of emotional and physical exhaustion, eyes that Scrooge could not keep his gaze off of. Those eyes, he could tell, told stories of life under the sea for over four years, stories of isolation and literally sleeping with the fishes, not having enough to eat, not having any contact with anybody except sea life, potential hallucinations and Barks-knows-what that might have occured in the four and a half years Fethry Duck remained there. And that’s when it truly dawned upon Scrooge what it must have been like for him. He was a prisoner who had committed no crime, and Scrooge had stuck him in there. It was Scrooge’s idea. It was Scrooge who snapped and left him there. Thoughts were racing in his head about Fethry, whose steely eyes never wavered but whose bill would sometimes shift from a smile to a frown. Floating in the water-filled bedroom, Scrooge felt numb to everything in that moment.

 

“I’m so lonely, uncle.”

 

He had such a sad, pleading voice to him that it struck a nerve in Scrooge. What exactly had Fethry seen in the years he’d been underwater?

 

“Fish aren’t friends. I lied to myself. Fish aren’t your friends. They don’t talk to you. You have to pretend they do. Fish are sometimes food. If I can find food. I can’t find a lot of food. I’m a janitor. I’ve been a janitor for. Four and a half years underwater. Mitzi.”

 

The underwater currents grew strong and pushed and pulled at Scrooge as Fethry rambled on, his tiny frame trembling, setting himself free to float in the water. His voice was loud, spine-chilling, but still so sad.

 

“Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Where’s Donald? Where’s Gladstone? Scrooge. I’m having so much fun. No, I’m not. Fish. Krill. I’m alone. My friends. Fish. Mitzi. I want my life back. I want to have fun with you. Scrooge. Uncle.”

 

Fethry inched closer and closer to Scrooge’s face, his eyes narrowing into little slits that seemed equal parts yearning and hateful, his voice then growing lower. The room got so much darker, the sea now an inky black where nothing else surrounded Scrooge or Fethry.

 

Then, Fethry seemed to dissolve into the blackness, all his colors and features blending in perfectly, not even his clothes were there. But Scrooge could still hear his tragic voice yelling at him about his cousins, his life, his isolation. Fish. Mitzi. Krill. Scrooge.

 

“Why did you leave me? It’s okay, Scrooge, why did you leave me? I love you. You’re a great uncle! Lots of fun. The ocean is beautiful, Uncle!”

Fethry’s voice went on, “The ocean is so beautiful, so many lights. I love it. I love my friends, I love being here. Only here. Scrooge, come with me. Don’t leave me alone.”

 

His voice was as thick as the water Scrooge was surrounded in, closing into him and choking him more than the lack of breathing ever could, a repetition of happiness and sadness, of yearning and betrayal and more. 

 

“Don’t leave me, uncle. Where are you going? The observatory is over there.”

 

But there was nothing to be seen.

 

“You’re not leaving me down here, are you? How long am i going to be down here?”

 

The voice seemed to sound younger and more confused.

 

“Unca Scrooge, can I help you? I’m the underwater laboratory janitor? Fish!”

 

Then, back to the pleading, loud, low voice, “Why did you leave me down here?!”

 

Scrooge could feel himself slipping away, hazy images of over four years ago slipping into his mind’s eye, images of Fethry back when he was healthier and bouncier.

 

_ Fethry held on to his uncle’s hand as he bounced up and down, eager to see what plans he had in mind. He didn’t visit his uncle very often and it was always a pleasure to be around him. _

 

_ The young duck had bright ideas, though he got a little obsessed and focused on every little detail and would not stop until everything was the way he had envisioned it. Scrooge knew he was bright, but he caused too much trouble whenever he was over. He’d nearly knock over priceless artifacts in his own excitement. Scrooge simply couldn’t have any of that.  _

_ He was, as Donald called it, “cuckoo bananas”. _

 

_ The underwater laboratory was hardly maintained, occasionally Quackfaster would head down to make sure everything was in working order, but aside from the times where Scrooge used it, it was empty. It was massive, and full of wonders and the unknown and to be a janitor down there...it was perfect for Fethry. He didn’t want to think of it as getting rid of him, though. More like, assigning a quick job down there. _

 

_ For four and a half years. _

_   
_ _ Alone. _

 

Scrooge’s eyes snapped open as he found himself on dry ground again, panting heavily. Everything was drenched, seaweed and black gunk all around, and in the center of the mess was Fethry. The nightmare was far from over.

 

Fethry looked even worse than before, a corpse-like mockery of the bubbly young duck he used to know, the skeleton in his closet, the one Scrooge had  _ forgotten _ .

Except for those calls he constantly made. He made so many calls pleading to see Scrooge or Donald or anybody, to have contact with him. And Scrooge simply shut him out further unless it was a real emergency. Scrooge was reminded of all those sins he had committed, all the family members he had ostracized or perhaps even left for dead. 

 

There was a final, guttural cry from Fethry before he disappeared into a wisp of smoke.

  
  


Scrooge looked up at the ceiling, and promptly fainted.

 

....................................................

 

Many, many hours later the old duck finally came to, greeted by Ms. Beakley. He tried to gasp for breath before realizing he wasn’t really underwater, it was daytime, he was on the ground in his bedroom, which was a complete mess. Everything had been knocked over and tossed aside.

 

“You’re awake,” she said, dryly.

 

“Yes. Yes, I...Yes,” Scrooge stammered, not sure what to do at this point, his chest felt heavy and like he was struggling to breathe.

 

“You had a pretty bad case of the night terrors last night..”

 

That was evident, yes. Scrooge couldn’t find himself saying anything else, just his eyes darting around the room, and then back at Beakley’s stern, but concerned face. 

 

“No more nutmeg tea directly before bed, Scrooge.”

 

Beakley got up and lifted Scrooge in her arms, he didn’t even try to protest, his frame limp as the housekeeper set him back into the bed. 

 

“If you need me for anything, just call,” Beakley pulled up his blanket, “You need the rest. I can take care of the kids.”

 

As she turned off the lights and left the room, Scrooge tried to get everything out of his mind and sleep the rest of the day away.

He turned in his bed. Directly in his line of vision was Fethry Duck.


End file.
